Fire With Fire
by Baron Nomaw
Summary: Draco takes on the Dark Lord himself.  This is an AU for the final battle.  It's COMPLETE, intro plus four chapters, and I'll post one every day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So here's the intro! The story is 4 chapters after this, around 10,000 words total, very Draco-heavy. It's all done and I'm posting it over the next 4 days. I'm sorry about not getting my act together to post the rest of Indelible yet, but I haven't abandoned it and I will be finishing. In the meantime, here's this one. It's not all that deep, but I think it will be fun to see Draco battling hard for a change. Let me know what you think!**

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><p><em>Voices were buzzing all around him.<em>

_"Is he dead? He's dead, isn't he."_

_"I-… I think so. I do. Is-…"_

_"-Dead? He's _dead_? Are you sure?"_

_Draco wondered who they were talking about. Who's dead?_

_Before long he realized that they must be talking about _him. _He was certainly dead; he had no body and no awareness of anything except the disembodied voices around him._

_But then he found he had a body again; he knew because it _hurt. _Someone was touching him. A hand. On his neck. "Oh-! A pulse!" This voice was much nearer to him, almost shouting into his ear. Loud, nervous, strident. Hermione Granger. "He's alive," Granger was shrieking. "Hey – somebody help, Malfoy is _alive!_"_

_"What-? Let me see." That was Potter – close now, too. The hand on Draco's neck vanished and a much rougher touch took its place. There was pressure on his throat, and a surge of panic overtook him when he realized that he could no longer breathe. With all the strength of desperation he gurgled and surged up a little._

_"Malfoy," Potter snarled, "Malfoy, you hear me? Open your eyes, you little – hey! Don't you _dare_! Malfoy! Look at me!"_

_Potter was bad news. Look closely, son. Is it him? Bad bad news, Potter was always bad news. What could he possibly want now, Draco didn't even have his wand and couldn't move. Better to vanish. To disappear._

_And then, miracle of miracles, for once in his life the ground beneath him was granting his wish and opening up to swallow him whole. Draco would have smiled if he'd had the energy. It was dark and peaceful down there. A good place to hide. He dove, slid down into the darkness, escaping the strangle and all Potter's howling and all of everything. Escaping._

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

**Tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

Voldemort had withdrawn his forces for a while and there was a lull. People should have been able to move around the castle without running into any enemies… but when Harry was taking a shortcut where the hallway should have been empty, he saw somebody in a long dark cloak standing in the shadows. Lurking.

"Who's there?" he asked, wand out. The person hesitated a split second too long. It was better to be safe than sorry, so Harry attacked with an _Expelliarmus _before asking any more questions_. _ The wand went flying, the hood flew off, and Harry saw a shock of white-blond hair. "Don't move, Malfoy," he added, but not quite in time.

Malfoy was already stepping into the light. He looked terrible, completely colorless, and he threw his arms wide. "Do it, then!" he shouted back. "Go on, Potter – if you've got the nerve. Just finish it!"

Harry blinked and almost lowered his wand. "Finish it?" he repeated. For a moment he didn't even understand. "You mean… kill you? Malfoy, come on. Are you out of your mind? And, and I said don't move," he added, trying to sound fierce, as Malfoy's arm bent.

But Malfoy was only wiping his eyes. "Just please," he said. He was quieter now, but no less unhinged. "I've had enough, all right? I can't anymore."

"Can't what? You're raving," Harry recognized. "And crying. Look – you have to stop it. Stop crying. Stop it!"

"I don't-… I can't-…" Malfoy still had both arms raised, as if begging Harry not to shoot him, but he had also started cringing down, flinching away.

Most times when Harry was threatened and unarmed, he tensed and his heart hammered, flooding him with adrenaline as he desperately planned what to do next. Malfoy's response, though, was to just cringe in helpless terror.

Harry hated to think where that instinct might have come from. For a moment he almost lowered his wand… but then he remembered: as pathetic as Malfoy seemed on occasion, this was the boy who had taken Albus Dumbledore by surprise and infiltrated his impenetrable castle.

So he compromised. He kept his wand where it was, but didn't step any closer. He tried to make his voice sound calm and certain, even though he was pulling this idea completely out of his arse. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You're just having a panic attack," he soothed.

"I'm going to throw up," Malfoy gasped, now bent almost double.

"Okay, don't do that." Harry wished he had the help of a genuine People Person right now. But seeing as he was alone, he was going to have to make do. _A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself, _he remembered suddenly. Thank you, Dumbledore. He should do whatever he could to make Malfoy not frightened. "Look, just sit down, okay? I'm coming to pick up your wand. I'm not going to hurt you, if you just do what I tell you. I promise. Now move."

Malfoy managed a few stumbling, lurching steps along the wall and then sank down to sit, covering his head with his hands. Harry snatched up the wand fast and stuck both wands into his belt. "All right, wand's away. Just calm down now."

After a long while Malfoy's head rose. "I've had a rough day, all right?" he said wearily. "What do you want?"

"First I want you to answer a couple of questions. Are you alone here?"

Malfoy nodded.

"Where's Goyle?"

"Dunno."

"Malfoy."

"I don't!" he insisted. "We got separated. We were running and we heard footsteps, and we ducked into different doorways, and I haven't seen him since."

"Whose wand is this?"

"I don't know. I took it off a… off a body. Your lot's been killing people too. I thought-… I thought you were going to…"

Speaking of his lot, they could still hear arguing and bits of _Where's Harry? _from down the corridor. Harry had to think fast. "We can't stay here," he said at last. "I have an idea and I need to talk to you about it – in private. We'll go down the dungeons, all right? Stand up."

Malfoy did, but then Harry drew a wand and he flinched away. "Potter!"

"It's all right," Harry assured quickly. "Honestly. Just put your hands behind your back."

"Do _what?_"

"We have to stop by the hall a moment," he explained, "so I can tell people where I'm going so they don't worry. I want it clear that I've got control of you, or else people will be hexing you left and right. Come on – trust me. I said I won't hurt you."

After a few long deep breaths, Malfoy managed to turn his back and cross his wrists. "All right," he said. "Go ahead."

Harry Transfigured rope and tied him manually, because he didn't know any good handcuffing charms. But when he was done Malfoy looked at his reflection in the window and then shook his head. "Nobody will notice that – use an _Incarcerous. _Do you know that one?"

"Yeah. Er… are you sure?"

Malfoy frowned. "Am I…?" It took a moment before the obvious dawned. "You're _worried _about me?" He made a face. "Come on. I'm fine."

"All right, all right. Sorry about this. _Incarcerous."_ Shimmering ropes burst from his wand and snaked all the way up Malfoy's arms to cinch them together, drawing a wince as his shoulders were yanked back. "How's that? You all right?"

"I said I'm fine. Especially now that people can see there's absolutely no need to attack me." Then he turned to look hard into Harry's eyes. "But don't you dare go off and leave me like this."

Harry was about sick to death of having responsibility for other peoples' lives, but this time he had nobody to blame but himself. "I know, I know. I won't. Come on."

They went together to the defenders' makeshift headquarters. Harry paused by the doorway. "It's Harry; I'm coming in!" he hollered before entering. Last thing he needed was some overzealous first-year to get startled and Petrify him.

Malfoy nudged him with a shoulder. He took a deep breath. "And… and I've got Draco Malfoy with me – don't curse him either."

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><p>Harry explained that he was taking Malfoy somewhere to "keep him out of trouble." He gave a few orders, tried to look heroic for a bit, and then ushered his prisoner out of the room.<p>

Down the dungeons, locked away in one of the Potions classrooms, Harry severed the ropes. "Are you better now?" he asked cautiously. "Or still, you know… scared?" Malfoy had to man up, or this would never work.

Malfoy nodded, rubbing his elbows and shaking out his wrists. "Better." His face twitched a moment, but Harry couldn't tell what emotion he was suppressing. "Thanks."

"For…? Well what was I going to do, keep you tied up forever?"

Malfoy's eyes rolled. "No I meant… for earlier." His eyes were zipping everywhere but to Harry's. "You know. The fire."

Oddly, as difficult as it apparently was for Malfoy to say thankyou, it was almost as difficult for Harry to accept. "It's no problem, I owed you anyway," he said quickly. "Besides… watching people burn to death isn't really my style."

"Yeah." Malfoy took a breath. "So: what do you want?"

"I should ask you that, actually." Harry waited until he made eye contact. "What do you _want_, Malfoy? Tonight it ends – you can't play both sides anymore. So are you with us, or not?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "So that's what we needed privacy for," he sneered. "We wouldn't want anyone to see the great Harry Potter _Crucio_'ing his way into what he wants, would we?"

"I wouldn't-!" Harry took a deep breath and tried not to bristle. All he said was: "Unlike Voldemort, I don't think that bullying is the way to get reliable allies." He waited until Malfoy nodded agreement. "We'd love to have you fight on our side – but only if you want to. It's time for you to decide."

Malfoy thought a moment. "So… I could fight on your side if I want. Or else what? You send me back out to the Dark Lord?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "If you choose Voldemort, I can't send you back out to him. That would be just giving him another soldier."

"Then what'll you do – kill me?" He sounded almost hopeful, and Harry felt his temper fray even further.

"No! Would you get that out of your head? I _said _I'm not going to hurt you!" He paused and tried to calm down. "If Voldemort's what you want, I'll lock you up down here and leave you," he explained. "That way, if he takes over the school you can make up some story about how you tried to get back to him but evil Gryffindors stopped you." He shrugged. "Of course, if he _doesn't _take over and _we_ win, then you'll be tried as a murderer and a traitor tomorrow. Given what happened with Dumbledore and all… you'll probably get the Dementor's Kiss."

Malfoy was silent a moment. "And if Voldemort's _not_ what I want?"

"Then I need your help."

Malfoy arched his eyebrows.

"I've got a plan," Harry said. "But it requires two things to happen, and I can't do both. So…"

Up close, it turned out that Malfoy was thinner and more sickly than Harry remembered. But now that he had stopped crying, it turned out he was also a lot more imposing. He drew himself up and crossed his arms. "What two things?" he asked coolly.

"One is, to duel Voldemort and kill him."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course. And the other?"

"To let _him _kill _me._"

Malfoy frowned, cocked his head. Tried to formulate a question out of: "_?_"

"He's formed some kind of link between us," Harry explained shortly. "As long as I'm alive, he can't be killed. I want him to be killed. Do the math."

Malfoy nodded after a moment. "Okay. So far I follow."

"Well…" Harry felt a little off-balance. Not that he'd expected hysterics from _Malfoy _of all people, but still, the cool acceptance of his certain death was a little unnerving. "Well, then make a choice. Which side do you pick?"

"You tell me. _Convince_ me," he ordered. "I'm no hero, Potter. I want to join the side that's going to win. So, tell me about your plan. Is it going to work?"

Time was short and information precious and Harry wasn't sure how much he wanted to share. In the end he decided on short and sweet. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

"A Horcrux? Of course. Though I'm surprised _you _do," he added, almost under his breath.

"Okay. Well, Voldemort made a bunch. I got rid of most of them – the only ones left are there's one in his snake, and one in me. I've let some others know about the snake, so that should get taken care of, but that still leaves killing _me. _It shouldn't be too hard to get Voldemort to do that himself… and at that point he'll be vulnerable like never before. Except I'll be dead, so someone else will have to step up and kill him. He'll think he's already won, though. So he'll never see it coming."

Malfoy took a step back and sat on the edge of Snape's desk. "Let me think a minute." He thought for well over a minute. Finally he demanded: "Why me?"

"Because once Voldemort busts in and shows off my dead body, what's going to happen?"

After a moment Malfoy nodded, understanding. "Boo hoo hoo, what will we _do _without our fearless mascot," he recited flatly. "They'll all be busy sobbing."

"Yes. But not you. You won't even care."

"That's cold, Potter."

Harry shrugged. _Cold _was about right for the way he was feeling right now. Empty and determined and absolutely cold. "Could you fight on after I'm dead, or not?"

"Of course."

"_Will_ you? You'll have to swear to me that you're on board."

Malfoy took an even longer moment this time. "If I lose, I'll die," he said. "You realize this plan would go against every instinct I have."

"Your instincts bite," Harry answered at once.

"My instincts have kept me alive so far."

"And your _life _bites. Doesn't it." When Malfoy didn't answer, he pressed: "I saw you with Dumbledore. You admitted to him that you wanted out." Malfoy didn't confirm or deny it. "And I've seen you since then – I see into Voldemort's mind sometimes, you know. I see things he does to you. Things he makes you do." Malfoy's mouth tightened and he turned away. "You _aren't_ happy," Harry insisted, "And this is your last chance to change. If you don't fight Voldemort now, you'll have to live with it forever."

Finally Malfoy found his voice. "I've seen people _fight _with the Dark Lord."

"No, you've seen people get _murdered _by the Dark Lord. That's different."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"Malfoy. What I mean is, it's true Voldemort's got his impressive points. He can do incredibly difficult magic, he's ridiculously powerful, all that." Harry waved it all away. "But I'm telling you this from personal experience: as a duelist he is nothing special. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you had a chance."

"A chance. A chance at taking on the Dark Lord." Malfoy was quiet a moment, and then shook his head. "We're getting ahead of ourselves, Potter. They'll never even let me get that far. Your friends, I mean. As soon as I get upstairs they'll kill me."

"I'll… I'll talk to them," Harry offered, but he knew he didn't sound very convincing. He hadn't even thought of that particular problem.

Fortunately Malfoy was a more thorough planner than he was. "Forget talking – I know where Snape keeps the Polyjuice," he said. "I'll be more useful as you anyway – if people start noticing that Harry Potter's not around during the battle they'll panic." Then, out of nowhere, he flashed a big grin. "Plus, imagine how terrified Lord Voldemort will be when he kills you once and then there you are, kicking arse all over again."

Harry could hardly believe it. "So… you mean you'll do it?"

Malfoy nodded. "I'll do it. If I die it's no big loss – my life, as you so aptly put it, bites. Give me that wand back." He made a face. "Though it's absolute shit, I don't know whose it was but they must've been practically incompetent; that wand is a-"

"Here," Harry interrupted. "Take yours – your old one. It's in good shape, I've been careful with it."

Malfoy snatched it almost too fast to see, caressing it feverishly… and then hesitated. "What about you?"

"I won't need it where I'm going."

It hit them at the same time, what he was planning. "Are you sure?" Malfoy said, and it wasn't about the wand.

"I don't have a choice." He laughed a little, bitterly. "You'd know all about that, right?"

Malfoy nodded. "When you've eliminated the unacceptable alternatives, then whatever remains – no matter how difficult or unpleasant – is what you have to do," he recited, almost chanting. Clearly, that was the thought that had kept him going in recent times and now he blushed a little at sharing it.

Harry felt a bit touched. It was like a hug from someone else's teddy bear. "Yeah."

Malfoy hesitated. A long time. At last he held out his hand. Harry took it, but instead of shaking they just stood there, staring at each other, gripping tight. Harry realized this might well be the last friendly touch he ever knew, and apparently Malfoy realized it as well – he didn't move or protest when Harry shifted to grip higher, skimming fingers over his wrist. He could feel Malfoy's pulse. "You can do this, Malfoy," he said.

Speech broke the spell, and Malfoy stepped away to begin ransacking Snape's cabinets. "Start talking to me about his weaknesses," he said as he hunted. "The better I know my enemy, the easier it is to take him apart."

Harry pulled himself up on Snape's desk and dangled his feet, and started talking. "His birth name's Tom Riddle – and he hates it…"

* * *

><p>Afterwards Draco's head was spinning. This mess spanned from Horcruxes to the Elder Wand to Slytherin's line to a halfblood's envy. Voldemort had a fixation with magical purity he didn't even have. He loved the formalities of a wizards' duel but he dueled like a peasant – all raw power, no technique or finesse. He genuinely despised his henchmen and had no idea how much he needed them. He had a temper the size of a troll and an ego that dwarfed it. <em>Emotionally fragile <em>didn't even begin to describe this freak; he was a psychological house of cards, and insane besides.

If it weren't _the fucking Dark Lord himself _he was about to go fight, Draco would have felt quite optimistic about his chances.

He didn't want his clothes bagging off him and his sleeves in the way when he went to fight, so he made Harry trade shirts with him to get one that fit. He Transfigured glasses, but in case the spell went bad over time he made Harry trade glasses, too. Now, armed with Harry Potter's honest-to-goodness clothes and glasses and wand, he drew himself up and did his best Annoying Gryffindor impression. "Time to end this once and for all," he declared. He reached up to brush his bangs out of his face.

Harry grinned and it turned out that besides all his other superpowers, he had an infectious smile besides. "Not bad. But look: my hair's thicker than yours, so that little flicking thing won't work. You've got to really…" he reached up and ran his hand through, front to back, spiking it out of the way. "Like that."

Draco mimicked the gesture. "That? All right. And once more: it's first names for all your Gryffindor friends – and the Dumbledore's Army people too, right? – and the little Weasley's nicknamed _Ginny_. Anything else I need to know? If I get made right away we have a problem."

"Just… smile more. I don't smirk and sneer like you do. Though I suppose people wouldn't notice that during a battle anyway." He shrugged. "You'll make a great me. Now let's get going."

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><p>TBC.<p>

Please let me know what you think so far! Next chapter will be up tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

With Harry to occupy him, Voldemort would likely be a few more minutes before he decided to storm the castle. They would have to make good use of those minutes. Draco went back upstairs and sought out Weasley and Granger. "Call everybody together," he ordered. "Just the kids, anybody under say age eighteen. We need to talk."

Weasley frowned. "You're not going to try and stop them from fighting, are you? That's like half our force, mate, we need-"

"Just do it!" he snapped, then winced. "Sorry… Ron," he amended. "It's just we're running out of time. Of course I'm not going to stop them."

"It's just a pep talk," Hermione guessed. "All right, I'll get everyone. _Sonorus!"_

As she called the troops together, Draco ran through what he wanted to say. He debated trying to Harry-Potter-ize it, but then in the end decided that giving good orders was the most important. If he sounded a little too harsh to be Harry Potter, well, he would just have to hope it went unnoticed.

"Everyone shut up and listen!" he barked when the kids had assembled. Talking ceased. As he'd expected, some frowns appeared; people likely weren't used to Potter talking to them this way. Well, too bad. "This is life or death," he said, quieter but with intensity. "And that means, for us to live, others will have to die. Do you understand that?"

He waited for the apprehensive nods from all around. "That means," he pressed, "That you aim to kill. If you actually know how to use _avada kedavra, _you do it." His eyes flashed to the handful of Slytherins who had stuck around to make their stand with the do-gooders. Two of them, the ones he'd hoped for, nodded resolutely.

"And if you don't?" someone called from the crowd.

He turned his attention to the rest of his army. "Then you stun, or you petrify, or you incarcerate. And then you _break their wands!_" he added, savage. Breaking a wizard's wand was the next thing to killing, really, it was crippling in the worst possible way. Draco was glad to see that people looked properly horrified by this order. He didn't back off it. "If you knock out a Death Eater and he gets back up again, he'll kill one of your friends. And that death will be on _you_. Because you could have prevented it. Does everyone understand that?"

Ginny Weasley backed him up. "Once someone's down, he's down for the count," she agreed in the terrible silence. "Everyone follow? This will save lives. When you get a Death Eater down, you take a second to grab his wand and stomp on his wand hand. There are going to be a lot of broken wands and broken fingers out there today, okay?"

Nods all around. "We're fighting for keeps today," Loony Lovegood put in, in that irritating singsong of hers. She giggled dreamily. "It will be a new experience for most of us."

Draco took over again. "Yes. And let's do it right. Anybody who can't fight, first-years and such, I want you patrolling and carrying information. Everybody else, you'll be part of the battle. It's going to get chaotic, but let's have as much organization as we can."

There wasn't time to put together much of a military system, but Draco knew he couldn't have everyone just milling around aimlessly. "House Quidditch teams, stick together so you can move en masse. Use _Sonorus _to communicate – you know, _Ravenclaw team to the front hallway, _or _Slytherin to the south staircase, _that sort of thing. Everybody else, form up little groups of four or five and stick together. Don't rely on the older wizards to guide you; they'll be busy and you don't want to be in their way. Designate someone in your own group to be in charge, and follow his orders. Is that clear? Make sure you don't fight fair – I want you to outnumber your enemies and take them out as fast as you can. All right?"

He waited a moment while the kids arranged themselves, scrambling to find partners they wanted to work with. When it looked like everyone was ready he swept Potter's hair off his forehead and stepped to the center. "Hands in," he said. "_Hogwarts_ on three."

* * *

><p>When the battle started, Draco got away with a few things he shouldn't have. For instance, there were trolls. Draco ran up behind Death Eaters and <em>Imperio<em>'d them into attacking the trolls, which meant the trolls took a break from stomping kids and started stomping Death Eaters instead. That was clever – and entirely beyond Potter's limited strategical abilities. Fortunately, nobody noticed.

There were also Dementors. Draco ran headlong from the Dementors instead of producing Potter's famous Patronus, but fortunately nobody noticed that either.

Nobody noticed when he called Gryffindors by their last names and failed to jump in front of curses for the sake of others. Nobody noticed when he got Dolohov wounded and alone, and took a few minutes to pay him back for some very bad times before finally allowing him to bleed to death.

What people noticed was something even more stupid and more obvious than all of that.

It had occurred to him that Harry Potter might be very valuable as distraction and bait, so he Summoned a broom and took to the air. Zipping above the battle, raining minor hexes down on the attackers, he drew a lot of attention and a lot of curses. Draco was a damn good flier and dodged them all deftly; in the meantime, the kids down on the ground had an easier time sneaking up on Death Eaters who were busy aiming up at the ceiling.

It wasn't until he landed and hopped off his broom that he realized his mistake; Weasley and Granger grabbed hold of him and pulled him into a corner and ducked behind a bit of wall. They were both digging wands into his neck. "That's not Harry's flying; that's nothing at all like Harry's flying," Weasley growled. "Who are you and where's Harry?"

Draco swallowed and tried to sound calm. If he panicked things would only get worse. "Who I am is the one who's been commanding your side bloody brilliantly for the past half hour," he reminded. "And the one who's going to be facing the Dark Lord alone when he finally turns up. So, why don't you put that thing away and show me a little respect, all right?"

Granger saw the light straight away. "He's right, Ron. He's not Harry but whoever he is – or she – they've been helping us." She frowned again at Draco and looked hard, as if she'd be able to see through Polyjuice by sheer will alone. "Who _are _you?"

"And where's Harry?" Weasley added, dogged as ever.

"This was Harry's idea," Draco assured first. If he gave his name now they might attack him. He'd have to distract them first. "He wanted to give himself up to the Dark Lord, it's part of his plan, but he thought you lot would try to stop him. A decoy gave him time to get away." _No, _they were both saying, but Draco continued right over them. "He's been gone nearly an hour, so you're too late."

"But why, _why_?" Hermione demanded. "He knows we're going to fight for him, we wouldn't give him up. Never."

"There's some kind of magical bond between him and the Dark Lord keeping the Dark Lord alive," Draco explained. "He's got to break it, and unless he thought of a better plan on his way out of the castle, Harry's going to break it through death – his own death." He waited through all of Weasley and Granger's hysterics and let himself be shoved against a wall and finally, calmly, he said: "This is why _I'll_ be the one dueling the Dark Lord. Look at you two."

Finally they let go of him and commenced pacing. "It can't – that _can't _be Harry's plan," Granger insisted to herself. She whirled on Draco. "Why should we believe you? You could be making all this up."

"I can prove it. Harry told me to tell you that the song he danced with you to, in the tent, was _You Stir My Cauldron _by the Four Familiars. Right?"

Granger's eyes grew wide and she nodded.

Draco turned to Weasley next. "And you… he told me the only password I'd need with you is _like a sister,_ whatever that means. And really, Weasley… I don't want to know." The time had come to just cross his fingers and hope that for once in their lives Gryffindors could keep a cool head. "So. I'm Draco. Malfoy. Don't curse me; as of an hour ago, I'm on your side."

They took some convincing, but not much – the battle was still raging and they knew perfectly well they needed _some _Harry out in the field to keep their side from panicking. They went with him back into the fray. Draco won points with a couple of well-timed Shield Charms and some Petrificus, and before long, they were more than happy to fight back-to-back with him.

In fact, when the Dark Lord finally _did _turn up, snarling and confused because he had one Harry Potter already dead in his possession and yet his people insisted that there was a Harry Potter blasting away at them inside the castle… Granger and Weasley were almost reluctant to let him go.

"Think this over," Weasley said, grabbing at him. "We've already lost _one _stupid hero running straight into the Dark Lord's arms today. We don't need another."

Draco shook himself free. "Potter died on purpose," he spat. "This is nothing like that." He tried hard not to think about what Potter's walk must have been like. "_Nothing _like that. I could win. I think I will."

Granger nodded, biting her lip. "You're right, this _is _the best plan," she said. "Wait a moment though; your hair's already changing back and you might as well fight him as yourself. I mean, you know, in case…"

As if he would care what happened to him in case he died! Still, flipping the Dark Lord the bird with his own middle finger did have some appeal. Draco nodded.

Granger continued: "So. Plan. He's surrounded by his Death Eaters now, but his ego is enormous. He _will_ fight you alone if you challenge him." She took him by the shoulders. "We'll keep everyone off you, Malfoy, you hear me? Ignore the rest of the battle – we'll cover you. If Voldemort himself doesn't throw up a Sheild Charm, we will."

He looked to Weasley for confirmation. "That's right, Malfoy," Weasley agreed. "We've got your back. Get in there and fight with every dirty trick in the book." Out of nowhere he grinned. "Or, in your case, with every dirty trick you know – which is probably more than the book. If Harry believes in you, I believe in you. Good luck."

Draco had no intention of relying on _luck._ He cast a _Sonorus _so he could be heard over the noise of the battle, and declared: "Hello everyone. Ahem. This is Draco Malfoy. I've been fighting under Polyjuice all night – _for _the school and _against _the Death Eaters. I'm now going to go duel Lord Voldemort – whom I hereby call out and challenge with all possible scorn – and I don't want any of you to get in my way. Just keep doing what you're doing, everybody. Thank you."

Then he squared his shoulders and headed in the Dark Lord's direction.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC. <strong>

**Draco vs. Voldemort is up for tomorrow. In the mean time... talk to me!**


	4. Chapter 4

Just before his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, Draco had projectile-vomited his way all through the locker room. His second match, he missed the pre-game strategy talk entirely because he was stuck in the bathroom experiencing a bout of terrifyingly explosive diarrhea. After those two disasters he learned not to attempt to eat before a match, and eventually he grew to enjoy most of the game-day changes in his body. He felt sharper – but fidgety. Quick, but volatile. His stomach clenched up and his skin prickled. His gait lost some of its smoothness, and his lips tended to curl back without his even noticing. His wand, responding to him, tended to heat up.

He noticed all the usual things as he strode across the battlefield to the spot the Dark Lord had staked out. He was focused, and angry, and unafraid. Draco had his game face on.

_Sonorus _again, so that his voice would carry across the courtyard, even through the noise and chaos of a battle. "Hey! You there – Riddle!"

He saw Voldemort stiffen. "That's right, you swine, I'm talking to you," Draco continued. The crowds parted around him; nobody wanted to be standing next to the person Voldemort was about to turn his wand on. "What do you think you're doing, standing there giving orders to your betters?"

Voldemort cleared the space between them with a wave of his wand, and fighters of both sides were flung through the air and out of the way. Heads turned; fighting stopped. Draco ended the _sonorous; _in the sudden heavy silence everyone could hear him clearly anyhow. "The wizards you've brought with you haven't got a single flaw in their histories, back a dozen generations. How dare you even raise your voice to them, let alone your wand – you halfblood scum."

Voldemort helpfully threw up a massive Shield Charm, separating them from the rest of the fighting. "The boy is mine," he called, in case anyone had missed the message.

Draco wiped blood from the side of his mouth and blew his bangs out of his eyes – he needed to be able to speak spells without stuttering and see with perfect clarity for the shitstorm he was about to provoke. "Go home; this is a battle between _wizards _and it's none of your bloody business," he called. Voldemort stared as if hearing a foreign language, and Draco wasn't even finished yet. "You're not a full-on wizard or even a full-on human! Why don't you get out of here and go fuck a Muggle or something." He licked his lips. "Just like your mother, sad pathetic sack that she was."

"How _dare _you!" Voldemort went from calm to raging within half a breath. He stammered out a torrent of abuse mixed with spellcasting, so angry that his sentences were half-formed and his curses were no better. Fast and powerful, but nothing fancy.

Draco countered, shielded, countered, deflected. As soon as there was a lull he called out: "Hah! I should've known I'm a match for you. I was _born_ to this." His form was defensive, but perfect; he was aligned cleanly behind his wand, giving only his profile to his enemy. His back hand was loose at his side, ready to correct his balance if need be or to scoop up the hem of his robes if he had to run.

"Born to this? Yes… you were born to _die, _Draco," Voldemort spat, sweeping his cloak behind him with one arm. His form, of course, was bizarre as ever. He faced his opponent head-on, waving both arms as he cast his spells, as if he were conducting an orchestra. Ill-controlled currents of power whipped his clothes around like a personal wind machine. "But I, Lord Voldemort, was not _born_ at all, as you understand the term. I have transcended life and death, passed beyond the-"

"Listen to yourself, you hideous freak!" Draco interrupted. He laughed. According to Potter, Voldemort hated being made fun of. "Where'd you read that, a Divination textbook? What a load of rubbish!" Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he gripped his wand with new purpose. He seemed near to getting his temper under control, and sure enough, his next "_Crucio_!" almost brought Draco down even through a good protection charm.

The pain was horrible but Draco kept himself upright and didn't lose hold of his wand. It was manageable; Voldemort let up before too long and Draco had had much worse.

He tried to catch his breath and firm up his voice. "You think a bit of Cruciatus is going to bother _me_?" he called. "Old hat, Tom. I've spent more time than I care to remember staring at the wrong end of your wand." He had passed all the way through fear and into recklessness, and he didn't care. It felt great.

"Yes, you have, haven't you." Voldemort's voice was coming from across a battlefield but somehow it was almost a purr, low and clear, as if he were standing and whispering directly into Draco's ear. Draco hadn't even heard him cast the spell. "I marvel that you still have spirit enough left to defy me, after all the times you've groveled at my feet, begging mercy."

Draco closed his mind firmly against the memories. "Somehow you seemed a bit more dangerous at a Death Eater meeting when you had dozens of wizards to back you up," he snapped. He was lying through his teeth of course, but he shut his mind against that too. "Only, look! They can't help you now – they're too busy getting their arses kicked by a bunch of mudbloods, Muggle-lovers, and _little kids_!" He risked a split-second glance away from Voldemort to sneer at the crowd around them. "You sure know how to choose your allies."

"They are not allies, they are _servants,_" Voldemort ranted, dismissing the battle with a sweeping gesture. "Lord Voldemort does not need allies."

"Keep telling yourself that – Tom."

Voldemort interrupted with a blast from his wand and ordered, punctuated by bursts of power: "_DO NOT… CALL ME… TOM."_

It took everything Draco had to dodge and parry the blasts, and he couldn't send a single spell back. But he would look weak if he let Voldemort's attack go _completely _unanswered, so he hollered some rudeness at him instead: "Fine then. Know what they're calling you up at the school?" He grinned when he saw that Voldemort was listening for an answer, and had become so angry that he lost all semblance of physical grace, almost tripping over his robes. "The first-years call you Lord Moldy-Warts," Draco invented, smug. "Apparently you've inspired some real terror there."

All of a sudden there was a loud crackle, and then a chorus of high excited voices echoed through the arena. Chanting his name. "_DRACO! DRACO! DRACO!"_ Draco grinned. Quite a clever use of somebody's _Sonorus; _who didn't love a cheering section and besides it was making Voldemort snarl.

The Dark Lord quickened his pace, preparing to attack. He was a lefty and though Draco had less experience dueling lefties, thanks to years of lessons he knew to keep his body oriented towards his opponent, cross his feet neatly behind him, pivot to keep their position neutral. Voldemort's frown deepened. Clearly he'd never had a dueling coach himself… he'd probably never even fought with a classically-trained opponent before. He instinctively circled towards his opponents' unprotected side, but Draco kept him staring straight at a wandpoint. The move left Draco mostly stationary, a risky way to duel, but it was a small price to pay for throwing the Dark Lord off his game.

"Come on, Malfoy!" one of the _Sonorus_'d kids screeched suddenly. "Fuck him up!" The other kids picked up the chant and for a moment the air was full of _fuck him up! Fuck him up!, _until a scandalized adult wizard started shouting about language and took the _Sonorus_ away.

Now it was so silent in the arena that Draco could hear himself breathing. He was alone. "Ready when you are, Tom," he called, cold and amused. The tone was second-nature to him; Lucius had taught him to produce it in even the most extreme of circumstances.

But Voldemort's own poker face was more than decent. "Consider yourself fortunate that I allow you to die with that impertinence on your lips," he said, "Instead of forcing you to beg to retract it. _Avada Kedavra!"_

The Dark Lord was used to leading people by a pace or so, though, and Draco was a stationary target. He dodged by throwing himself sideways, and watched the curse sail by his head.

Voldemort only laughed. "If you are hoping to tire me, it won't work," he called. Draco tried not to let his smile falter – even though that had, in fact, been his plan. "I could throw Killing Curses around until you die of old age, if I wanted. Watch: _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_" He sent one at Draco and several others up in the air. "Watch, and marvel. _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_" Draco had to dive for the ground to get out of the way in time, and he tried to ignore the faraway laughter of Voldemort's people.

He also tried not to feel impressed… and failed. The Killing Curse was so exhausting and difficult that he himself could kill only two or three ants with it before he grew too drained to continue.

But he told himself it didn't matter. He knew how to duel with low-energy spells until opportunity presented itself. Then, eventually, he would risk everything on one powerful curse. _Levicorpus_! he thought, from his knees. While Voldemort scrambled to counter the spell before he went flying, Draco stood and followed up with "_Rictasempra! Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy! Levicorpus, stupefy!" _Voldemort's wand moved at lightning speed to deflect the attempts one after the other, and Draco realized that more distraction was in order. He needed a rest.

"I am not impressed, boy," Voldemort called.

"I'm not impressed either," Draco answered. "The Elder Wand doesn't seem to like you much, does it?"

Voldemort blinked. "I pried this wand from the cold dead fingers of Albus Dumbledore," he snarled at last. "It is mine. I am the one true mas-"

"-the one true _idiot," _Draco said over him, "Who _happens_ to be in possession. In _temporary, unauthorized_ possession!" He shook his head in disgust. "You can't win a wand from a dead wizard! But I spose, growing up with Muggles like you did, how would you know any bett-… _ah!_" Voldemort threw a curse and he had to dive out of the way. He recovered his balance – and his attitude – as fast as he could. "Not very nice to interrupt me when I'm talking, Tommy."

Voldemort had stopped circling, pacing back and forth instead. Well, that was all right – Draco knew how to press against a lefty, too. He took over setting the pace, forcing Voldemort to turn awkwardly to face him as he moved to the blind side.

"I see no reason to let you continue," Voldemort answered. "Instead you will suffer. _Cru-"_

"-_Finite!_" Draco barked, interrupting the spell well before Voldemort got it off._ "_Aren't you curious about who's _really_ in charge of the Deathstick? Because if it's me – and it well might be – and you try to use it on me… you'll be blasted to where all the Horcruxes in the world can't bring you back from." He saw Voldemort's eyes widen. "Yeah, we know all about your stupid old trinkets," he sneered. "Potter's been out destroying them all year. Surprise! Only one left is that slimly little girlfriend of yours that slithers around next to you, and I promise, before long somebody'll sort her out too."

Voldemort glanced quickly to Nagini, and Draco kicked himself for not being ready to capitalize on that hesitation. "Anyway, yeah," Draco finished. "Wand's not yours."

"Enough," Voldemort hissed. "You are a fool. Do you imagine that even _without_ the awesome power of the Elder Wand I would not be a match for you in single combat? I, Lord Voldemort? That I would fail to simply _end _you when I tired of your rudeness?"

"That's what it's starting to look like, isn't it."

Voldemort readied himself to cast another spell but then, evidently thinking better of risking the wand backfiring, turned instead and hissed in Parseltongue for his snake.

Nagini came. Knowing there would be too much magical protection on her to kill her outright, Draco cast a Sticking Spell and an _Impedimenta _to slow her down. While Voldemort was busy clearing away the charms he declared: "I'm not scared of your pet. Remember who I am. My family _adores _snakes – has for generations. Not that you would know." Then, with a big flourish of his wand he shouted "_Serpensortia!_" as Nagini approached. An enormous snake exploded out of his wand and collided with her; she attacked it, and it fought back.

Voldemort continued hissing. _Forget the snake – kill the boy!_ he was probably snarling, but Draco had no qualms about attacking an unready opponent. While the Dark Lord's attention was distracted he let loose with a _Sectumsempra_, and as cuts exploded to ooze sluggish black liquid, he added an _Expelliarmus!_ for good measure.

Even staggering with the shock of having been suddenly sliced up like a side of beef, Voldemort was wizard enough to deflect the Disarming Charm. And, lightning-quick, to follow up with an attack of his own.

_"Crucio!_"

That, Draco had not expected. _No, _he had time to think, but that was all. The curse caught him square and he went down in a blaze of agony, trying to just somehow scream his way through it and remember what was going on. Duel. Fighting.

Flashes, flashes of red and white, bolts of _stop_.

The next thing he knew was a mouthful of gravel; he was lying facedown, and someone was standing a little ways off and chanting his name. "Draaaa…co…. Draaaa….co…" That thin mocking singsong boded no good but he couldn't move to save his life. He'd been in so much pain and now it had stopped. He could stay like this forever.

"_Crucio._"

He felt his body trying to curl up, heard himself screaming, but the pain was too much to resist and there was absolutely nothing he could do but jerk and scream until it stopped.

When it did, when Voldemort finally let up, Draco was exhausted. He was done.

"Draco, get up," the voice continued. Still silky smooth. "You have lost, my boy. Now, have you any other rude words you'd like to say? Do not keep Lord Voldemort waiting."

The feeling of utter hopelessness was almost liberating. There was nothing he could do. Nothing good would come of getting up. Better to just lie here and wait. He relaxed. Surely when things got too terrible, Lucius would step in and give him the _avada kedavra_. Until then, there was nothing to do.

"Malfoy?" He heard a wavery, faraway voice – someone yelling at him from beyond the shield wall. "Malfoy, get up! You can do this! Get up!"

Ha, ha. Draco just closed his eyes.

Before long Voldemort was nudging him with a foot. "Draco. You have bragged so forcefully about yourself tonight; it would be such a shame to disappoint everyone now. Stand up. I'll allow you to die on your feet." He laughed, softly. "Eventually."

_Die. _It occurred to him that dying was not really what he wanted. On his feet or otherwise. So, he rolled over and got to his hands and knees. People were still screaming _get up _and _you can do it. _That was ridiculous, but still…

He got his legs under him and tried to take off. He didn't quite manage to run; the best he could do was stumble. Not a very fast stumble, either.

Voldemort sighed from behind him. "Very well, if you won't stand still to die with dignity I shall feed you to Nagini like the vermin you are. I think she would prefer her meal cooked."

There was a piercing shriek from just ahead of him, from outside the wavering barrier. "_Malfoy look out!_" someone was screaming. Granger. She was pointing back, over his shoulder, and he turned to see what his death was going to look like.

Voldemort had conjured a gigantic ball of fire and was breathing life into it. "It's Fiendfyre!" Granger was shouting, as if he needed help identifying it, as if the huge laughing flaming face could be anything else. "_Run_!"

She was shouting it to all the spectators around her but Draco thought it sounded like pretty damn good advice for him too. He ran – as if you could outrun Fiendfyre! – as fast as he could, lurching along the charm wall. With no wand he couldn't break through it. He just ran.

"Malfoy!" someone was shouting his name again, someone nearby. "Oy – Malfoy! Here! _Broom!_"

Still running, Draco looked towards the voice and saw Ron Weasley, actually _in_ the arena now, having apparently magicked his way through the protective spells. He was holding a broom. As soon as their eyes met he threw it, and Draco reached out to catch, more by instinct than anything else.

His leg was over it and he was in the air. As panicked as he was his skills didn't desert him; he shot up so fast and hard he nearly slammed the broom handle into his face. He turned to look back and saw that the Fiendfyre was coming – still coming for him.

The fiery face had lost some of its definition, though. It was starting to falter, as if Voldemort was no longer very good at controlling it. Why? Still flying at top speed, zooming around inside the dome of the shield spell, Draco looked down.

Weasley was still inside – and had been joined by Granger and a few others. They were _fighting _with the Dark Lord, dueling him all at once. Four on one – fair play be damned. Pieces of Nagini littered the floor. "Weasley _YES_!" Draco screamed at the top of his lungs. "Get him!"

The Dark Lord was able to duel four people with one hand and control Fiendfyre with his other, but it was clearly starting to tax his strength. If they kept it up much longer he would have to give up one or the other…

Or not. All of a sudden with a surge of power Voldemort felled all of his attackers at once. Then he focused his full attention back to the fire. Draco turned tail and flew as fast as he could, screaming to them all to _GET UP GET UP!_, and the great flaming mouth was laughing at him as it chased.

He executed a beautiful hairpin turn right before the shield wall and changed direction. The fire, a hair less refined in its movements, collided and skimmed along the barrier, hissing and steaming as the magics did battle.

Draco risked a quick glance down and saw that the kids were starting to struggle back to their feet… and that Voldemort was standing straight below him, mouth wide open and laughing.

The sight panicked Draco and he went into a dive, stupidly, _heading straight for Voldemort, _whose wand was rising and gods he was going to fly straight into a death spell, wasn't he. Draco swerved; there was no time to pull out of the dive now so he spun off to the side instead, shooting upside-down past Voldemort's knees, actually brushing against the hem of his robes as he went by.

He _thought _he was a few inches above the ground but then he was rocked by a terrific impact as his head caught up against something hard. But he wasn't knocked off his broom; he held on at all costs, Bludgers can crack you a good one son but you must never let go or it gets worse, up up he was pulling up flying up towards the open sky-

_A charm wall, _he realized a second before he hit and a second too late to change course. _Why is the pitch covered with a-_

This time the impact was too much and he lost hold of his broom.

He heard the jarring _whump _of a body hitting the ground but he was past feeling it. He did hear his skull break though. The sound was deafening. He tried to hang on to awareness, but it was a losing battle.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC. Only one chapter left!<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Harry poked through the smoldering robes and the crumbling, stinking bits of rotten flesh inside it. Voldemort's kludged-together body was literally falling apart. His soul had screamed and twisted in the smoke, like the mother of all Horcruxes, and this was all that was left of him.

"Is he dead?" Ron was asking, over his shoulder. "He's dead, isn't he."

"I-… I think so." Harry tried to sound certain – after all, if _he _couldn't tell, who could? His scar had hurt, and hurt, and _hurt, _and then stopped. Surely a good sign. "I think he is. Is-…"

But there was no way to keep talking, because people were pouring in now, surrounding them, trying to all talk to him and all get a look at the remains at once.

Eventually Hermione's voice came through the chaos, shrieking that Malfoy was still alive, and Harry suddenly felt terribly guilty. That _he, _of all people, should neglect the boy inside the hero… "Where? Let me see!"

He pushed his way over and his first thought was that Hermione was crazy. Malfoy was lying absolutely still, all his limbs at wrong angles, a spreading puddle of blood under his head. "A pulse," she was insisting. "He has a pulse!"

The Fiendfyre hadn't caught him, but he'd flown headfirst through the remains of a stone wall, and then been zipped straight upwards as his broom went wild, slamming him into the shield wall, and he was already (_dead_) limp before taking that terrible freefall.

Harry tried to feel for pulse but he really didn't know how. He pressed against Malfoy's neck, trying not to mind the blood, but felt nothing at all until Malfoy made a noise and jerked a little.

"Malfoy?" he snarled. "Malfoy, you hear me? Open your eyes, you little – hey! Don't you dare! Malfoy! Look at me!" He was shaking him, _demanding _Malfoy's attention, but Malfoy was not looking cooperative. His lips twitched a moment, perhaps an attempt at a sneer, and then he went totally limp again.

"He's not breathing," Hermoine announced, shrill but not panicking. "Get healers, Harry! Now! In the meantime I'll- Ron! Keep everyone back, I need to be able to concentrate. His nose," she muttered to himself. "It'll be dripping blood into his throat, we can't have that, _Episky!_ Last chance to breathe, Malfoy." She waited a moment with her cheek close to his face. There was no air coming from him, at all, so she grimaced and got to work.

She tilted his head back, pinched his nose closed and breathed into his lungs. "Hermione!" Ron squealed, predictably. Trust a pureblood not to know a single thing about Muggle first aid.

"Ron, you're welcome to breathe for him if you don't want me doing it," she snapped. "Be quiet."

He still wasn't breathing on his own by the time Harry dragged a healer over, but then, he still hadn't lost his pulse yet either. Hermione backed off with extreme reluctance, the Muggle in her hating to hand her patient off to people who stopped rescue breathing and instead proceeded to wave magic wands.

She had to turn away while they worked. Before long, though, Madame Pomfrey spoke up crisply. "He'll live. Get him to my infirmary and I'll be right up, as soon as I clean up any other emergencies."

* * *

><p>Draco opened his eyes for a moment, long enough to recognize the Hogwarts Infirmary ceiling, and then closed them again. The light was too painful. "Ehh," he said, and it stung his lips and he tasted blood.<p>

Instantly he heard a flurry of activity beside him. "Malfoy?" It was Harry Potter. The thought didn't panic him the way it should; for some reason he was certain that for the moment at least Potter was on his side. "Malfoy, are you awake?"

"Mm." Even groaning was a terrible effort.

"Okay, listen here." Potter's voice was quiet and intense. "Everything's fine, but I know how these people work. As soon as they know you're awake they're going to kick me out, and tell you to _rest rest rest _and not let you know what's going on or have any visitors. It'll drive you mad. Before that happens, do you want me to tell you what happened? What's the last thing you remember?"

He opened his mouth carefully but still cracked his busted lip. "Did you do this to me?" was all he could think to creak out.

Harry snorted. "No. This was courtesy of Lord Voldemort. Malfoy… you killed him. You bloody offed the Dark Lord, _please _tell me you remember that much at least? You dueled…?"

Dueled. Ah yes. _I am not impressed, _he remembered. Circling slowly, his heart hammering in his throat as he shouted insults across the field. He'd faced off with the Dark Lord himself. No wonder he felt so destroyed.

"And then the Fiendfyre, you were up on a broomstick…?"

Draco hunted around in his memories for that bit. He and Potter had been hurtling towards the door through the smoke and darkness, _the door is that way!_, no, that was earlier. He'd thanked Potter for that down in the dungeons. They'd made a plan together. Voldemort had thrown Fiendfyre at him and then Weasley had given him a broom.

"Mm," he managed. "Yeah. What happened? Can't see."

"You fell and cracked your skull," Potter said, cool as anything. "Smashed it really, there were pieces of bone on the floor and your brain was showing. I suppose it'll take a while for your head to be right again. Would've been fatal for a Muggle, you know."

His lip curled and more blood seeped into his mouth. "One more reason to be glad I'm not a Muggle."

Potter sighed. "Anyway. People were fighting him, and then I popped in, and he was distracted, so then he wasn't paying enough attention to where that Fiendfyre was going. You steered it right into him. Voldemort's dead – and now you're going to find out just how much fun it is to be famous. If you're not suicidal by next week I'll be impressed."

Draco squinted into the light and tried to get a look at him. "Wasn't the plan for you to be ….?" He lolled his tongue out and pantomimed dead-ness, which wasn't hard because he felt about three-quarters there himself.

Potter shrugged. "I was. I got lucky. I'll tell you about it later if you want, after the healers take another crack at you. There's still some broken bones to fix and your head is still missing a couple of bits. They're doing the Skele-Gro in stages, apparently there's a limit to how much they can give you all at once."

"How do I… look?" He hated to ask, but if he was deformed or something he'd rather know now then get surprised by his picture in the papers later.

"Like a beat-up mummy for the moment, but they'll have you back to your old self in no time. Unfortunately."

"Watch yourself, Potter. Now that Voldemort's dead..."

"… we'll have a lot of pictures and interviews to do together," Potter finished for him. "So we should get used to playing nice."

"Mm. Is that what this bedside vigil thing is about?"

"No, the bedside vigil thing is because too many people want your blood and it's hard to know who's safe." Potter shrugged. "I'd rather sit with you myself than let you get murdered in your hospital bed."

"I can take care of myself."

"While you're unconscious?"

"Cake." Draco looked as arrogant as possible under the circumstances. "Enough of that _Boy Who Lived _nonsense… I'm the _Boy Who Finished The Job_! Hear me roar." Instead he coughed. "Get me a drink. And you can let my mother in here, if you want."

"What about your father?"

"Not unsupervised." Potter looked a little horrified, so he explained: "Better safe than sorry. He'd approve."

Potter conjured a glass of water... but it was full of violet speckles. "Sorry," he said. "Not my wand." He took a sip and shrugged. "Still tastes all right, though."

"Is he all right? My father?"

Potter sat down by the bed and slid an arm in to help Draco sit up. They both did their best to ignore the contact. "He's fine. Your mother's much worse actually. The Death Eaters turned on her."

Draco choked on his drink.

"They worked out that she must have lied to them-… oh." Potter broke off. "You don't know what-… Right." He pushed his hair back and heaved a sigh. "You need to get your bones fixed and it's a long story. But in a nutshell: she saved my life tonight, and when I showed up alive your crazy aunt Bellatrix figured it out. People eventually pulled her off but by then your mother was in rough shape. It's nothing the Healers can't fix though. Malfoy… your family made it through, completely. You're lucky. A lot of families didn't."

Draco was not much in the mood to feel grateful. "I am missing pieces of my skull," he snarled. "Don't call me lucky."

"You _were _lucky. And… and also brilliant." It sounded like it killed him to admit it. "You and Ron both. Especially you though – don't tell Ron I said so."

Draco snorted. "I can't believe there was a moment I was flying around in there with all my hopes pinned on a fucking Weasley."

"He's out there saying the same thing about you."

"Mm." He narrowed his eyes. "So… what's it like being dead? I almost found out myself today, you know."

"It's a long story. Get your bones fixed first."

"What are you, my mother?"

"No, I'm your bloody bodyguard… but it beats being the actual hero for a change. Look at you. I'm getting the mediwizards." He went to the door and opened it. Draco saw rows – _rows _– of chairs in the corridor. "He's awake," he called. "And lucid."

People streamed into the room, some brandishing medical implements and others Quick-Quote Quills and cameras. Some people looked fresh and others had apparently been through a battle. They were swarming down on him and suddenly The Boy Who Finished The Job just wanted his mommy.

Or at the very least, his bodyguard. "Potter!" he shouted, panicked. "Potter, where are you?"

A moment later Potter had successfully elbowed his way through. "Here. I'm here – relax. You're okay."

"Don't leave me." He discovered he was clinging to Potter's hand. He was also passing out; the world was spinning and it was now too dark to see.

"Everything's fine," Potter promised. "Seriously fine. Permanently fine. Just sleep."

The blackness was friendlier than last time, and someone was holding his hand. Draco slept.

* * *

><p><strong>The End.<strong>

I like BAMF!Draco. He's given some pretty awesome skills in the books and then never gets to use them. My way is better! Go me!


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